


Defy the Stars

by SomeCoolName



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Charles Xavier has a Ph.D in Adorable, Cheating, Cherik is endgame, Elevator Sex, Erik is Crushing Harder than a 12-year Old Girl, Fluff, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, Jealousy, Love at First Sight, M/M, Neighbors, Secret Relationship, scott is a jerk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-06
Updated: 2016-08-06
Packaged: 2018-07-29 18:58:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7695640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomeCoolName/pseuds/SomeCoolName
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles can’t sleep that warm night in New York when he decides to get some fresh hair on his balcony. It appears he’s not the only one who can’t sleep as he meets one of his neighbors, smoking on his balcony from the building across Charles’. They meet again in the elevator a few days later and the neighbor, Erik, is not only incredibly beautiful but also charming and funny. But Charles is in a relationship with Scott and Erik is hiding something, so it’s best if they just stay neighbors.</p><p>Too bad it was love at first sight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Defy the Stars

**Note:** Hi all! I was working on _Remember_   when, suddenly, I got a day off and all I could think of was writing a quick Cherik OS. Well it turned out to be 14000 words long but I regret nothing. There are many inspirations for this story, including... a Shakira music video ( _The Tortura_ , yes.), but also the amazing show _Looking_ and several nods to other TV shows I love. The title is inspired by _Romeo and Juliette_ , but I swear no one dies here. 

**Beta: deadoralive0013** BECAUSE OF COURSE. Thank you so much dear, for bearing with me when I crawl to you, whispering "I did a mistake. I wrote another Cherik story." But also the amazing **Orienter** , thank you SO SO MUCH, this story needed you as much as Nutella needs bread in the morning. 

* * *

 

Charles’ eyes open. The night, tepid and clammy, is not his ally this evening. He straightens up on his bed and doesn’t really think before getting up. Even if the bedroom window is open he can’t sleep because of the heat, unless it’s because of the jet lag. Or maybe it’s because of what happened tonight, but Charles’ subconscious spares him from that memory a bit longer. 

 

He walks to the kitchen to pour himself a glass of cold water and opens the French door which leads to the balcony. There’s a breath of fresh air welcoming him, around his ankles and naked calves, and he sighs. The warmth is more bearable outside and even if he can’t see the stars because he chose a few years ago to come live in New York where the city lights blind people from seeing past the concrete walls towering the streets at all sides, there’s the whole sky, unreachable and tempting, above him. There’s a light whirring in the distance, the simple proof (if he needed one) that New York never sleeps, that there are always men and women working, young ones partying and homeless people struggling. Charles’ hands holds on the railing and he leans forward a bit to look at the courtyard of his building. The janitor takes good care of it, he knows how lucky they are to have such lovely flowers and brushes decorating it. His subconscious gently pokes him in the head and he blinks:  _ he  _ is _ lucky to be here _ . 

 

He raises his head again and lets his eyes scan the wall a few meters away. Some windows are open but there’s no light - it’s not as if he expected to see some of them lit as it’s the middle of the night. He remembers when he visited this place for the first time, how it reminded him of  _ Rear Window _ and all he could think of was that he wouldn’t mind being in a wheelchair if Grace Kelly was his girlfriend - or James Stewart his boyfriend, either worked. He should buy the DVD tomorrow and watch the movie again, on a night like this when jet lag - and other events he’s still not going to think about - keeps him away from a long and well-deserved sleep. He should go back inside too. But then there’s a light on. 

 

On the fifth floor, just a bit lower than his own, there’s a man on his balcony. He’s fully dressed with a pair of jeans and a pale shirt, but he’s barefoot, and he’s leaning on his railing too and he’s smoking. Charles feels naked (but he’s not, he still has a bit of decency) that he’s only wearing a loose tee-shirt, the one with a printing of an anchor, and his boxers and suddenly he feels the need to stroke his calve with his feet to close up his legs. The man takes a long drag of his cigarette and raises his gaze,  as if Charles' eyes on him had been so persistent, the neighbor had physically felt them . 

 

He smiles. 

 

Charles smiles too.

 

Charles doesn’t quite see the point of doing remakes but with a face like this, he’d start a crowdfunding to be able to shoot  _ Rear Window, The Revenge _ himself, as the neighbor would be extremely hot in his own version. That silly idea makes Charles smile even more. And that makes the neighbor nod - greeting him. Charles nods back. That’s harmless. The neighbor takes another drag and finishes his cigarette. He crushes it against the railing and looks up at Charles again, salutes him with his empty hand and maybe his eyes linger on him a second more after his body has turned around to go back inside, but even if they didn’t, Charles lets himself think it could be the case, pretending for one second that this could be his life - eyes looking at him like he’s a celestial being, someone who would hate to leave him behind. But there are no stars to be seen in a big city like this. Charles goes back inside, closes the French door, and walks to the bedroom. Scott is still sleeping, back turned, unreachable as always. But of course, even more so tonight. 

 

Charles lays down and congratulates himself for not making a sound when the tears invade his cheeks. 

 

* * *

 

 

It’s a dreadful day at Columbia University: the phone is ringing from all sides, and the cops are even talking with Emma in her office right now as she’s taking this case very seriously. Of course it had to happen three weeks before the end-of-term examinations and now half of Charles’ colleagues want to just cancel the examinations and make everyone repeat a year (which is simply not worth considering, thank you very much) and the other half has gone back home to start writing new questionnaires. Mr. Shaw, the dean, will decide what to do, that is,  _ when  _ the man gets back from his monthly vacation in St. Barth but meanwhile, his secretary Emma Frost is taking care of everything - as she always is. 

 

There’s a knock on Charles’ door and soon Emma enters. She pulls a horrible face to express how tired she is already and that makes Charles laugh. 

 

“So?”

 

“So they’ll investigate but frankly, I think I just should pay 50$ to my geek nephew and he’d find the culprit in less than an hour, I’m sure.”

 

“In any case, every single student received the answers to all of the examinations. We have to write new questionnaires.”

 

“I know, Charles, but it’s a matter of principle. Someone stole the answers from all of your personal folders and cheating is simply not something we can accept.”

 

Charles nods, focused and not paying attention to the ache in his stomach when the words vibrated in the air:  _ cheating is simply not something we can accept _ . 

 

* * *

 

 

“Are you sure you want to wear a tie?” Scott asks, buttoning his shirt.

 

“Raven gave it to me.”

 

“So what? You know I don’t like that tie.”

 

Charles breathes in and watches himself through the mirror of their bedroom. Yes, the tie is not very pretty, it’s too big and the burgundy is a bit too serious for Charles’ taste, but he feels she’d be pleased to see he wears it (even if he only does when she visits him from London). Maybe he just should call the whole thing off, pretend he has a migraine and stay in bed watching  _ Black Sails _ and eating cereals like a teenager (even if he never ate cereals for dinner as a teenager thanks to his mom and especially, her  _ cook _ ). Scott enters the room and comes behind him, he slowly takes off his tie and unbuttons the first two buttons of his white shirt.

 

“See? You’re so pretty like this.”

 

Charles watches himself and has a faint smile. He doesn’t know if he can say he’s pretty but yes, he’s easier on the eyes, more watchable when he’s not wearing that hideous tie  _ which is so trendy in London, Charles! _ Raven’s voice repeats in his head. He nods. 

 

“Thanks.”

 

It was a nice thing to say. It should please Charles to hear Scott’s compliments. But he still wants to tear his eyes off instead of going to that dinner which Raven, her husband Hank, plus his mom and step-dad are also attending. He loves them too much to lie to them and pretend everything is okay. But he loves them even more than enough to decide that he won’t hurt them. 

 

So he goes to that dinner, he holds Scott’s hand and lets him kiss his cheek and lets him tell his family how their vacation in Vermont went - but not all of it, of course. 

 

When he finally cries, he’s alone in the shower. The tears fade away with the water coming out of the shower head, so that’s fine. 

 

* * *

 

 

Charles is leaning against the elevator wall as he checks his emails on his phone when he hears a voice calling. He reflexively holds the doors to let the neighbor enter before they close.

 

_ Oh _ . Charles should say The Neighbor. 

 

“Hi,” the man says, a bit breathless.

 

“Hi,” Charles answers, breathless himself, even if he didn’t run.

 

“Thank you.”

 

Charles’ eyes don’t dare to blink, too focused on trying to understand why The Neighbor is thanking him.

 

“For holding the doors,” The Neighbor clarifies.

 

“Ah, don’t worry about it,” Charles answers and immediately blames himself for not being able to add something that would make the conversation continue. 

 

They silly nod in silence and finally The Neighbor adds:

 

“I’m Erik.”

 

“Charles,” he enthusiastically answers, stretching a hand to shake his - firm grip yet soft skin, could that man be anything else than a walking fantasy? “I just moved in. A few weeks ago actually.”

 

“Welcome then. You’ll see, people are very nice in our building.”

 

_ And amazingly hot, yes, I’ve noticed. _

 

“When did you move in here?” Charles asks. 

 

“Mmh, five years ago I think.”

 

“You’ll have to tell me every saucy gossips of the neighborhood, then,” Charles says, clearly flirting and there’s a voice in him screaming  _ Oh my God what the bloody hell Charles, you don’t even LIKE gossips! _ but he keeps smiling, pretending his own soul isn’t doing hara-kiri in himself right now.

 

Erik, The Neighbor, frowns a bit but then has the decency to smile, slightly amused - even if clearly not responsive to Charles’ flirting.

 

“You don’t sound American.”

 

“Oh yes I’m a third made of tea, a third of tartan and a third of Monty Python references.”

 

“British, then.”

 

“God save the Queen,” Charles nods.

 

This time, Erik The Neighbor has a huge smile on his face, and ‘huge’ doesn’t even begin to describe how big his lips stretch on that magnificent face. How many teeth has that man? Why would Charles care?

 

The elevator stops and the doors open, Erik lets Charles go first and Charles feels like he’s escaping from hell and heaven at the same time. That elevator must be the worst purgatory there is, he’s sure of it. 

 

“Have a nice day, Charles.”

 

“Thanks, you too,” he answers, smiling.

 

* * *

 

 

The lunch with Moira is so fast Charles’ belly hurts from eating this quickly, but she has many problems at work, the least he can do is spend a bit of time with her. She tells him about her sexist boss and colleagues, the way they put her under so much stress because she’s a woman and saying how, quoting them,  _ she can’t handle a position in the city hall as she can’t even handle her own hormones.  _ Moira is six months pregnant and Charles is sure that she’s still the most determined and proactive human being in the whole city. 

 

“It’s the law, you know, we can organize the contest if we have at least five agencies applying for it. And because LBT Architects withdrew from the contest last week, it looks like we’ll have to cancel it. Well,  _ I _ ’d have to cancel it as you’ll never see a man from my office having the guts to make a public speech to say ‘ _ We failed _ ’.” 

 

“Oh, Moira, I’m sorry… Can’t you find another architect to apply in lieu of LBT?” Charles asks, sipping his iced tea.

 

“Amazingly, not a lot of agencies would apply. As it’s the city hall which is organizing the contest, everything is public. The name of the agencies and their works will be displayed even if they’re not chosen.  If they fail, their work will be on display in every blog and architecture magazine all around the world . But if you know someone who can just take a chance and have a strong drive, please give him or her my number.”

 

“I promise,” Charles blinks at her, squeezing her hand in his.

 

* * *

 

 

> _ Coming late tonight, long meeting at work. Don’t wait for me. -S _

 

Charles stares at the text on his phone, written inside a green bubble speech.  _ Why is it green. Why isn’t it blue _ . Scott has wifi at work, even if it’s not working, his mobile phone contract has no limit on the internet access. Unless Scott is in a room or building where he doesn’t get any good signal.  _ Why would he be in a zone where he doesn’t get any good signal _ . 

 

“Wait!”

 

Charles stretch out a hand to do as he’s told without even thinking about it. Good thing he did as Erik The Neighbor enters the elevator and smiles at him as if Charles himself is the best news there is today.

 

“Are you secretly a groom? It looks like you’re always here to hold the elevator for me,” Erik says, smiling but not mockingly.

 

“Ah, then you do know my secret identity, the charm is broken.”

 

“No, it’s not,” Erik answers, mysteriously confident about it.

 

Charles uses all of his strength to not let his cheek burn. 

 

“Long day?” Erik The Neighbor asks.

 

“Oh yes. How did you know?”

 

“It appears I had the same.”

 

“Well, I hope you didn’t spend  _ your  _ morning with the cops, telling them that, no, you’re not some crook teacher who received money in exchange for the answers to the examinations. Then, I hope you didn’t have lunch with your best friend, harassed by her colleagues and boss at the city hall, and asking you for a the contact of an architect which you couldn’t give her because you know no architect. And of course, I hope you didn’t get hit on by a seventeen year old student, especially after having spent four hours with the cops, and tried to gently, but firmly, reject him.”

 

“Are you serious?” Erik asks, stunned or bewildered, Charles couldn’t precisely tell. 

 

Charles’ stomach aches. Of course, Erik The Neighbor couldn’t be Erik The  _ Gay  _ Neighbor. 

 

“Yes, I’m gay but that doesn’t mean I’d do anything with an underaged young man,” Charles clarifies, tired of having this conversation  _ again _ . 

 

“No, no, I don’t care about that, I mean, your friend, the one who is working at the city hall, is she working on the contest for the Museum of fine-arts they want to build near the lake?”

 

“Yes she is, how did you know?”

 

“I work at Daedalus. I’m an architect.” 

 

Erik The Neighbor might be Erik The Angel, in the end.

 

“And do you think your agency would be interested in taking part in the contest?”

 

“Well it’s a risk worth taking so I certainly will do my best to convince them. How could I contact your friend? When?” Erik asks, full of energy and Charles loves that kind of people, not afraid of failing and just going for it.

 

“Well, give me your number and I’ll call her to tell her to contact you as soon as possible.”

 

“Perfect.”

 

Charles turns on his phone again and stares at Scott’s text for a second before opening the contact application and entering the number Erik is giving him, saving it under the name Erik The Neighbor. 

 

“I’m Erik Lehnsherr,” Erik says with a soft voice while wearing a wide smile on his face, clearly having seen the name Charles gave him on his phone.

 

“Sorry. Charles Xavier.”

 

“Oh so you’re not Charles Pajamas anymore, how sad,” Erik gently mocks and Charles can’t possibly breathe until the elevator doors open. 

 

They greet each other and go their separate ways. Charles actually sleeps when Scott comes back.

 

* * *

 

 

> _ Hello Charles, this is Erik Lehnsherr, I hope you’re doing fine. I just want to tell you Moira called me this morning and we arranged a meeting with my company. We’re now officially a part of the contest, it’s really exciting. Thank you very much for your help, I really appreciate it. Have a nice day.  _
> 
> _ -Erik. _

 

Charles’ heart skips a beat. He puts down his pen and takes his phone to read again and again (and  _ again _ ) the text. It takes him precisely eleven minutes to be satisfied with his answer.

 

> _ Hello Erik. I’m glad. Have a good day.  _
> 
> _ -Charles _

 

There. Neat, not too clingy and polite. He goes back to the redaction of the new questionnaire and suddenly takes his head in his hands. What a  _ bloody dull text _ he just sent! The man is all smiles and interest and Charles acts like Erik is some kind of exotic and endangered animal one can only see through heavy glass. 

 

> _ I hope you don’t have to spend the morning with the cops today too. If so, I’d start to think you’re hiding things from me. _
> 
> _ -Erik. _

 

Gosh the man actually answered to that insipid text that Charles sent? Charles is one lucky bastard and it’s time he stops acting like Erik will bite him the second Charles shows the slightest proof of interest in him ( _ friendly _ interest, Charles mentally repeats, thinking both about Scott and Erik at the same time). He can talk to a man, that’s not material to ambiguity, he’s sure about that.

 

> _ Actually they found the three students who sent the stolen answers to all of their friends so, we’re done with the drama and the cops. And I’m a very respectable teacher, you can be sure about that. _
> 
> _ -Charles _
> 
>  
> 
> _ PS: Funny how you pretend I could hide things from you, when, you know, we know nothing about each other. _
> 
>  

Friendly pokes, Charles thinks.  _ Friendly pokes _ . 

 

> _ I know you wear clothes too big for you. I know you don’t sleep well at night. I know you’re a teacher. I know you give nicknames to your neighbors. _
> 
> _ -Erik. _

 

Charles laughs out loud at that last one. He forgets about his papers and leans on his armchair before answering.

 

> _ I know you smoke. I know you don’t sleep well either. I know you’re a reckless architect. I know you check out my ass when you let me out of the elevator.  _
> 
> _ -Charles _

 

Charles hits  _ Sent _ and automatically stops breathing. What the hell was that.  _ What the hell was that _ . He quickly inspects his screen to find a hidden button he could repeatedly hit to erase that last text but,  _ bloody hell _ , he paid 350$ for a phone that can’t even allow him to take back a shitty remark! He starts to write  _ Sorry, that was a stupid thing to say _ but he erases it and puts down the telephone to not look at the screen anymore, hiding his face behind his hands. He doesn’t want to see Erik’s reply. In the end, he doesn’t have to, because Erik never replies. 

 

* * *

 

 

“For the love of God, Charles, it’s only two days” Scott nearly shouts, putting his shirt in his small suitcase.

 

Charles is on the bed, his feet a few centimeters away from the suitcase he could so easily kick. But he doesn’t, instead he just bites his thumb, eyes aching with the need to blink but he can’t stop looking at Scott, wondering if the next time they’ll see each other,  _ it _ would have happened again. 

 

“It’s just going to be long boring meetings and visits to the flood barrier. Nothing more.”

 

Charles nods without knowing why.

 

“Charles,” Scott calls him, standing next to the bed. He waits for Charles to meet his gaze and continues, ”you have to trust me.”

 

“Well, you certainly didn’t do anything to help me do so,” Charles answers with a strength he didn’t know he had in him. He gets up from the bed and avoids Scott’s touch to walk to the living-room. He still can’t believe he dared to say that, it’s like suddenly a scriptwriter from a TV show took the helms of his brain and wrote the perfect cynical riposte that was meant to hurt Scott the same way he hurt him. But that’s silly, of course. It can’t possibly be as painful as finding out about Scott’s affairs was. Charles opens the French door and walks on the balcony to deeply breathe.

 

There’s light at Erik’s place and his French door is open too but there’s no one on the balcony. Too bad and all the better. At the same time. 

 

* * *

 

 

“Hold the door!” 

 

Because Charles watched Games of Thrones last time, he giggles and puts his hand on the door, but then Erik enters the elevator and Charles doesn’t know what to do with his facial expression: 1. smile as much as he can because Erik is always a good news. 2. be as stoic as possible and greet him as if he never sent that shameful text. 3. just apologize, for Christ’s sake.

 

“Hey,” he says but Erik turns his head at the same time and keeps holding the door to let a woman enter.

 

She has brown hair and blue eyes and is wearing a dress Charles might have seen on a magazine which Raven made the cover of. She’s pretty. Scratch that, she’s  _ beautiful _ . 

 

“Hi,” she says to Charles and walks to the end of the elevator, a bit breathless too, putting away the hair on her face. Charles tries so hard to not look at Erik but he miserably fails and when his eyes land on his neighbor, the woman says, “Oh, are you Charles? Erik told me about you, you’re the one who got him that job for the museum! Thank you so much, you’re so sweet!” 

 

Charles smiles because even when everything aches, smiling is a good thing to do.

 

“Ah, I didn’t do anything. I just gave his number to a friend, that’s it…”

 

“A lot of people wouldn’t have done that you know,” she looks at Erik, waits a bit, and finally stretches out a hand to shake Charles’. “I’m Magda, Erik’s wife.” Erik turns his head to look at her and she smiles a bit before adding, “Well, that’s true, isn’t it? I’m your wife.”

 

“Nice to meet you,” Charles says and it’s half a lie.

 

“Nice to meet you too.”

 

Charles doesn’t try to meet Erik’s eyes again after that.

 

* * *

 

 

“I bought sushi,” Scott says, leaning to kiss Charles on his closed lips.

 

Charles looks at the bag on the coffee table and recognizes the brand of his favorite restaurant which doesn’t deliver, which means Scott actually crossed town to buy the best sushi in New York. That makes him honestly smile.

 

“Thank you.”

 

“My pleasure, I thought I’d treat you well before I leave. Would you like to watch Black Sails?” Charles always wants to watch Black Sails so he turns on the television before Scott disappears in the kitchen to get the placemats and cutlery. “By the way, I met one of our neighbor in the elevator tonight. Erik Ehnsher. I think that was his name,” Scott says. Charles doesn’t start the episode right away. “He says hi.”

 

“How does he know we’re together?” Charles asks, frowning but then Scott is back from the kitchen and Charles notices the tee-shirt his boyfriend is wearing is the one with the anchor drawn on it, the same one Charles was wearing the night him and Erik met. 

 

Scott shrugs and they eat while watching a full episode. They prepare to go to bed and Charles goes to close the French door but he puts a foot on the balcony and slightly leans a bit forward. Erik is on his balcony too, smoking, and their eyes meet. There’s nothing but a dry coldness between them so Charles goes back inside and closes the door. 

 

* * *

 

 

Life is ironic, that is a fact certified by the NASA, Charles is positive about it. It’s when Scott is in Colorado and he’s alone for two days that he receives by mistake a package for Magda and Erik Lehnsherr. He lets it sit at his place and only dares to take out his phone from his pocket to send his neighbor a text after he ate a salad at his desk.

 

> _ Good morning Erik. I received a package at your name by mistake. Will you be at home tonight so I could bring it back to you? _
> 
> _ Hope you’re doing okay and that you’re having fun on the museum project. _
> 
> _ -Charles _
> 
>  
> 
> _ Hello Charles. Thank you so much for taking care of it. I could come by around eight to pick it up if that’s okay with you? Yes, the project is very interesting, thank you. How are you? _ _  
>  _ _ -Erik. _

 

Charles has a faint smile. Erik is reckless indeed, the questions he dares to ask…

 

> _ I’m feeling absolutely stupid for the previous text I sent you. It was futile, I don’t know why I said that. Please forgive me. But I’d totally understand if you just want me to leave you alone. I’ve been told I can appear to be a bit too clingy sometimes. _
> 
> _ -Charles _
> 
>  
> 
> _ Don’t apologize. You have humor and I was stupid to not just accept it. I’ve been told I can appear to be too serious sometimes. So please don’t change anything about yourself because of me. If anything, I think I should learn from you. _
> 
> _ -Erik. _

 

Charles beams. That is a lovely thing to say.

 

> _ So maybe we could learn from each other.  _
> 
> _ -Charles _
> 
>  
> 
> _ What could you possibly want to learn from me? I’m boring, stubborn and a bit obsessive.  _
> 
> _ -Erik. _
> 
>  
> 
> _ You seem to know how to manage a relationship. Given the fact that you’re married and all. _
> 
> _ -Charles _
> 
>  
> 
> _ Scott seems nice. _
> 
> _ -Erik. _
> 
>  
> 
> _ Yeah, he seems. _
> 
> _ -Charles _

 

Charles regrets that last one a bit. But only a bit.

 

> _ I’m sorry. What is happening? _
> 
> _ -Erik. _
> 
>  
> 
> _ Other guy. _
> 
> _ -Charles _
> 
>  
> 
> _ guyS*. But that was before. We’re working on it. _
> 
> _ -Charles _
> 
>  
> 
> _ Cheating is devastating, Erik.  _
> 
> _ -Charles _
> 
>  
> 
> _ I know. _
> 
> _ -Erik. _
> 
>  

They don’t exchange any other texts after that.

 

* * *

 

 

Charles comes out of the shower, body still humid and warm and he had started to touch himself but had stopped. He wants Scott since he’s come back from his business trip. It’s a bit odd to realize how much he wants to kiss and lick and suck him, given the fact they haven’t touched each other since a few months ago, but the desire is here and Charles won’t let it slip away. He puts a towel around his waist and goes to the bedroom.

 

“You know, there’s one thing we didn’t use for a while…”

 

He gets ready to open the drawer where there’s the grey blindfold he likes to put around Scott’s eyes and stops to look at his lover, stretched out on the bed, smiling to his phone. Scott is beautiful like this, hair a bit messy, eyes surrounded with small wrinkles caused by his deep smile, manly hands around his phone… Charles swallows and walks to the bed.

 

“What are you doing?” he asks, voice as calm as he can.

 

The look on Scott’s face is memorable, a mix of panic and guilt that he deadens under a wide smile which doesn’t create wrinkles around his eyes this time.

 

“Hey sexy,” Scott says, staring at his naked chest.

 

“Can I see your phone?” Charles asks, stretching out a hand.

 

Of course, Scott’s hands tighten around the phone. Charles’ heart sinks a bit deeper within himself.

 

“Just talking with Alex.” 

 

Charles breathes in through his nose and climbs on the bed, one knee on the cover, before putting his hand on Scott’s member - scratch that, Scott’s  _ hard on _ . 

 

“You’re getting turned on by talking to your brother?” Charles asks, raising an eyebrow, not convinced at all. 

 

Scott shakes his head, of course, and then it’s clear in his eyes that he’s searching for what to say next and Charles asks once again, hand in the air to ask for the phone.

 

“Why don’t you show me what you’re doing, then?” Charles is amazed by how calm he sounds, given the tempest happening in his chest, brain, and soul right now.

 

Scott looks at him for a long time, phone deeply held against his own chest before he finally says:

 

“That’s not what you think.”

 

But it is, of course it is. And it’s shameful as Scott is on GrindR. It’s too much, it’s laughable, it’s painful, it’s everything that Charles can’t stand and he’s his partner, the for the past four years of his life.

 

Charles screams that night but doesn’t cry and Scott takes it all in a stride. He tries to defend himself at first, then confesses. Again. Bloody  _ again _ . 

 

* * *

 

 

The elevator is filled with cardboxes. Charles has one foot on the floor, the other one on a box, squeezed against the wall. The migraine eating up his eyes is atrocious and it’s not even nine o’clock. When he sees a hand holding the doors, the pain just kills him a bit more.

 

Erik looks at the elevator with wide eyes and then he looks at Charles. Scott arrives at the same moment and Erik quickly tries to fit in before Scott does the same and they’re all squeezed in the small space, even smaller now that it’s filled with boxes of books, clothes and memories. 

 

They don’t talk because there’s nothing to say and Charles feels Erik’s eyes on him, persistent and pleading at the same time. But Charles can’t explain. The ride to the first floor is terribly long, seconds turning into minutes turning into torture. When the door opens, Scott apologizes as he tries to get out without hitting Erik with the box he’s holding. The second they’re alone, Erik savagely grabs Charles’ arm and growls, barely audible:

 

“You?” that’s all, he doesn’t say anything else.

  
Charles stares at Erik and answers, “Him.”

 

He can actually see the tension in Erik’s body relaxing. Erik nods. Charles nods too.

 

* * *

 

 

Maybe the sound is a bit too loud but Charles loves this song deep to his bones. He likes Charles Aznavour’s French accent, the way he says ‘ _ touch _ ’ like he’s trying to stroke his lover’s cheek. It’s a song about an old man wondering how his young lover is going to live, and who she’s going to live with, once he dies. It’s definitely not a story about his own pain, but not everything needs to be about his breakup with Scott. The whole thing is still a bit blurred anyway. Maybe when he gathers the strength to tell Raven and his mom, it’ll help him realize. For now, drinking wine and listening to Charles Aznavour is more important. 

 

He’s sitting on his balcony, legs reaching beyond the bars of the railing. He’s looking at the sky, still searching for stars that he knows he won’t ever see while he’s in New York and lets his wandering eyes end up on Erik’s windows. There’s noise coming from his place too, and all the lights are on. From where he sits, he can see movements in the living-room and the kitchen is steamy as someone must be cooking. The song he was listening to ended. He presses the button of the remote and plays it again. In a loop. For the eighteenth time. He pours himself another glass of wine and doesn’t mind if he just empties the bottle as there are so many others in the kitchen. He rests his head against the bars and sees Erik coming out of his balcony. Their eyes meet and Charles’ phone vibrates. He takes it, very focused to not make it fall, and reads:

 

> _ I was worried because you didn’t answer my texts the last few days. _
> 
> _ -Erik. _

 

Charles swallows, mouth furred because of the wine.

 

> _ Didn’t feel like talking. _
> 
> _ -Charles _
> 
>  
> 
> _ You went to work though. _
> 
> _ -Erik. _
> 
>  
> 
> _ Had to keep my mind busy. _
> 
> _ -Charles _

 

He sees Erik nods.

 

> _ What are you listening to? _
> 
> _ -Erik. _
> 
>  
> 
> _[‘Who’, by Charles Aznavour](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iL_tXs3hp0U). A French singer. My favorite. Is it too loud? Neighbors came to ask me to turn the volume down. I didn’t. _
> 
> _ -Charles _
> 
>  
> 
> _ That’s okay. Do whatever eases you. _
> 
> _ -Erik. _
> 
>  
> 
> _ Then can I ask you to come over? _
> 
> _ -Charles _

 

He raises his gaze to look at Erik’s reaction. Erik faintly withdraws from the railing, keeps looking at the screen for a long time and finally dares to meet Charles’ eyes. They stare at each other for a while before Erik answers.

 

> _ I can’t. _
> 
> _ -Erik. _
> 
>  
> 
> _ Of course. Your wife. _
> 
> _ -Charles _

 

He’s not even bitter when he sends it, it’s the simple truth.

 

> _ Among others. _
> 
> _ -Erik. _
> 
>  
> 
> _ Orgy? _
> 
> _ -Charles _

 

Erik’s laugh resonates in the courtyard.

 

> _ No.  _
> 
> _ -Erik. _
> 
>  
> 
> _ You’re funny, Charles. _
> 
> _ -Erik. _
> 
>  
> 
> _ And incredibly wasted. _
> 
> _ -Charles _
> 
>  
> 
> _ That too. But that’s okay. _
> 
> _ -Erik. _
> 
>  
> 
> _ Please stop being so, Erik. _
> 
> _ -Charles _
> 
>  
> 
> _?  _
> 
> _ I think there’s a word missing… _
> 
> _ -Erik. _
> 
>  
> 
> _ That’s because I don’t know which one I should use. _
> 
> _ -Charles _
> 
>  
> 
> _ Celestial. _
> 
> _ -Charles _
> 
>  
> 
> _ The word I choose is ‘Celestial’. _
> 
> _ -Charles _

 

Erik raises his head again. They look at each other for a length of time that can’t be quantified. Then there’s a man coming to Erik’s balcony to smoke a cigarette and Erik lends him his lighter. Charles goes back inside and closes his curtains.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s a good thing the summer vacation have started because Charles is suffering the worst case of hangover in all of his existence. He succeeded to get up from his bed to open to the janitor who brought him a package (a premium clippers Scott ordered month ago, Charles told Mr. Jenkins he could keep it) and found on his door a box of paracetamol. He slumps on the sofa and texts Erik:

 

> _ Did you tape up paracetamol to my door? _
> 
> _ -Charles _
> 
>  
> 
> _ I’m offended you feel the need to ask. Do you have any neighbor as nice as I am? _
> 
> _ -Erik. _
> 
>  
> 
> _ Definitely not. Thank you. I don’t have any medicine left. Scott took them all. _
> 
> _ -Charles _
> 
>  
> 
> _ Is he some kind of hypochondriac? _
> 
> _ -Erik. _
> 
>  
> 
> _ Oh no, I am. So he took them to piss me off.  _
> 
> _ -Charles _
> 
>  
> 
> _ But that’s okay, I really need to stop rushing into medicine every time I feel like I’m getting sick. _
> 
> _ -Charles _
> 
>  
> 
> _ Yeah, those kinds of things wreck your liver, you know. You should try homeopathy. _
> 
> _ -Erik. _
> 
>  
> 
> _ Another thing I have to learn from you: how to take good care of myself. _
> 
> _ -Charles _
> 
>  
> 
> _ I’m German, we have an obligation to be flawless, given what some of us did 70 years ago. _
> 
> _ -Erik _

 

Charles smiles, head sank into the sofa cushions.

 

> _ You do have black humor, I’m impressed. _
> 
> _ -Charles _
> 
>  
> 
> _ Learning from you. Charles, as much as I’d like to keep talking to you, the museum project is quite difficult and I must concentrate. Drink a lot of water. And please, next time you want to listen to Charles Aznavour, do try to play, you know, other songs? I now know ‘Who’ by heart. And this it NOT a compliment. _
> 
> _ Take care, _
> 
> _ -Erik. _
> 
>  

* * *

 

 

Days pass and Charles thinks more and more about getting out. It takes a while before he actually does and he starts answering all the texts and phone calls he received. He apologizes to everyone who was worried about his silence and pretends he suffered from a migraine for days. When his mother asks him how he’s feeling now, he cries a bit and confesses he’s not well, not well  _ at all _ . He feels so ashamed because being cheated on is a slap on one’s soul, plus his mom loves Scott, but he has to tell her, he has to make it real. So he tells her he asked Scott to leave when he discovered Scott was cheating,  _ again _ . She echoes that awful word and he tells her about the time they were in Vermont, for their four years anniversary and they got a bit drunk and went to a party that became quite…  _ participatory _ . 

 

Of course he doesn’t tell her they ended up in an orgy without knowing it, but he tells her people started to flirt and that’s basically what happened, while Scott and him stayed on the terrace and kept drinking, hugging and kissing each other as if nothing else, and no one else, mattered. But then Raven had called Charles and she told him about Hank’s back surgery, that went well of course, but Raven needed to speak, to be honest about how much she got scared the doctors could end up hurting his hernia more than fixing it and Charles had listened to her, for a full hour. When he hang up, he went back to the terrace but Scott wasn’t there anymore. He searched for him through the whole house, until he reached the bedrooms in which he was certain he wouldn’t find him. But that’s where his lover was, between sheets, between  _ legs _ . And he offered Charles to join him. Charles left, Scott stayed. When he came back to their hotel the next morning, Charles couldn’t speak. Scott did, however, filling the silence with his smooth voice and despicable words:

 

“That doesn’t mean anything. It’s just sex. You’re over reacting. I just don’t get why you’re making me feel guilty about it.”

 

So Charles forgave him. And he pretended he didn’t notice the times Scott came back from the gym a bit too late, a bit too tired, the same way he pretended he was okay with Scott having ‘just sex’ with another guy. Until Charles finally confessed it was too hard for him to be in an open relationship and Scott listened, actually listened and promised he’d stop. Charles thought it was the end of that nightmare, maybe because he watched too many Disney movies when he was a kid and he thought that no one, aside from Lucifer himself, would dare to break a promise. But Scott did. 

 

Charles’ mom tells him again and again how sorry she is, what a jerk Scott is and she suggests she come to come to New York right away but Charles thanks her and tells her he’ll come to visit her the next weekend. 

 

When he does, he stays for three weeks at the Westchester mansion. Even Kurt, his step-dad, with whom he isn’t particularly close, is nice to him and one day he mumbles he never liked Scott and that Charles deserves better. Charles actually feels he could cry at that. 

 

Raven calls him every day, Hank too. He even gets a text from Scott’s mother telling him she’s sorry things had to end up this way. He doesn’t respond that if she hadn’t been so tight-assed about the reality of her husband repeatedly cheating on her, while the whole neighborhood knew about his extracurricular activities, maybe Scott wouldn’t have repeated the pattern he saw his father had set, as if it was a normal thing to do in a relationship. Thinking about it, he erases Regina’s number to be sure he won’t  _ ever _ tell her that.

 

Days pass and the pain starts to fade. One day, sleeping in the garden or swimming in the pool of the family mansion isn’t comforting anymore but just boring. He goes back to New York mid-August.

  
  


* * *

 

 

Charles rests his heavy shopping bags on the elevator floor and raises his head when he sees a slim body entering right before the door closes; it’s Erik and he’s staring at Charles with the most honest smile there is.

 

“When did you come back?” Erik asks, genuinely happy and a bit breathless.

 

“At noon, I just went to buy some stuff to eat,” he answers, widely smiling too because how glad he is to see Erik, more beautiful than ever and  _ Christ _ how he missed that man. 

 

“I was about to call you. I just spoke to Moira, we won. Daedalus won the contest. We’re going to create the new museum. My plans have been selected.” He’s so excited his eyes are shining and Charles deeply breathes in, not quite realizing what that means. “I wanted you to be the first one to know,” he adds.

 

Charles wants to ask why but he doesn’t. He moves a step closer and kisses Erik’s lips, arms going around his neck, tip-toeing to face him. Erik’s arms firmly tighten around his waist and raises him a bit before pushing him to the wall. They open their lips and stroke each other’s tongues without any restraints, giving everything to the other, offering themselves. It’s quick and warm, absolutely necessary. They both open their eyes at the same time when their lips grow apart. The doors open and they both back up. Erik disappears in the right corridor and Charles in the left one, his bags not as heavy as before as he just wants to run back home and never open the curtains of the French door again.

 

* * *

 

 

> _ Are you at home? _
> 
> _ -Erik. _

 

Charles doesn’t answer. Yes he is, it’s almost noon and he should get out and go to the barbecue Angel is doing but he’s not ready to leave if that means he’ll end up meeting with Erik in the hallway. Or worse, the  _ elevator _ . 

 

> _ Leaving right now. _
> 
> _ -Charles _

 

He sends, hoping it’ll be enough to make Erik stay at his place.

 

> _ We should talk, please. We can’t stay like this. _
> 
> _ -Erik. _
> 
>  
> 
> _ You’re right.  _
> 
> _ -Charles _

 

He sighs and wishes Erik will suggest they meet asap him to meet as soon as possible because the guilt that has been eating up his guts for days is nowhere pleasant. 

 

> _ Come by?  _
> 
> _ -Erik. _

 

Charles stares at the text for five minutes before putting on his shoes and heading for the corridor in which he never walks. He has to go down a few stairs and ends up knocking on the only door that could be Erik’s, given the orientation of his flat. Erik opens the door and he’s wearing exactly the same clothes the first night they saw each other, Charles notices it right away.

 

“Hi,” Erik says.

 

“Hi,” Charles replies, feeling his heart beating again.

 

Erik lets him in and Charles’ eyebrows raise when he see how nice the flat is. Well there’s not a lot of bookcases, but the walls are covered with paintings of all sorts that makes him want to ask all about their creators. But maybe Magda made them, so Charles doesn’t say anything.

 

“Do you want to drink something?”

 

“Wine would be perfect.”

 

Erik frowns a bit. “Maybe it’s too early for that.” And of course he’s right. He serves them iced tea and it does feel nice, given the heat. They’re drinking their tea very slowly, clearly stealing time to not have The conversation right away, until Erik gives in:

 

“There’s so much to tell you, Charles…”

 

“Can I wash my hands?” Charles suddenly asks.

 

Erik blinks, a bit disconcerted but nods and shows him the way to the bathroom. Charles barely closes the door and meticulously washes his hands, staring at himself through the mirror. Erik must think he has OCD, suddenly deciding he should wash his hands in the middle of a very important conversation, but his palms were so moist he just couldn’t think about anything else and, yes, he just wanted to play for a bit more time because he has no idea how he would react if 1. Erik proposes for them to have an affair, 2. Erik stops the whole thing even before it starts, 3. Charles  _ begs _ him to not stop whatever is happening between them. He wipes his hands and gets ready to face Erik again when he hears a woman’s voice in the living-room.

 

“Just dropping by, I forgot my agenda this morning. Are you okay? You look a bit pale,” Magda says, Charles can see her through the bathroom’s barely opened door.

 

“I’m fine,” Erik clearly lies and as soon as Magda is out of this place, Charles will be too because he can’t be that guy, when he knows how being at Magda’s place feels like.

 

“By the way, Andrew gave me this for you. I already signed them,” she says and hands Erik a folder which is enough to create a sad look on his face. He nods and gently puts the folder on the kitchen counter. “Well, as soon as you’ll have them signed I guess… this will be over.” 

 

“I guess so,” Erik echoes and they share a bitter smile. 

 

“I received a letter from the Morristown Medical Center,” she adds and suddenly her voice is very weak. Erik gets closer to her and deeply looks in her eyes before gently stroking her shoulders. She shakes her head and adds, “Well, same old, same old…” 

 

Erik sighs and hugs her tight. Charles should stop looking and feel disgusted watching them but there’s a love he doesn’t quite get between those two, a love he even feels... _ lucky _ to witness. They separate after a few minutes and she picks up her agenda before leaving. Charles waits a bit more and slowly gets out of the bathroom. Erik is still staring at the files he puts on the kitchen counter. Charles coughs and Erik turns around to face him with a weary smile.

 

“I’m sorry about that…”

 

“Well I guess life sent us a pretty clear sign…” Charles says, trying to smile too.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Well, I come in, three minutes before your  _ wife _ comes in… I think it’s pretty clear.” 

 

Erik has the imprudence to smirk and waves to tell Charles to get closer, which he does without knowing why. Erik doesn’t say anything and just keep looking at the files so Charles start to read them too, and he cannot miss the bolded word: _ Divorce _ . 

 

“Oh, my… I’m sorry, Erik.” 

 

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, Charles, but I didn’t want you to think I was… preying on you, or something. So I wanted to wait to be a divorcee to properly ask you out. To do it right.”

 

“Since when…” Charles starts but doesn’t end, so Erik pursues for him:

 

“Since when did Magda and I decided to get a divorce? Since… well, actually we agreed the first night you and I saw each other. I just couldn’t sleep so I went to smoke and… there you were. But since when did we start having problems, me and her? Longer than I can remember.”

 

Charles still looks at the paper without even reading them and asks even thought  he knows he’s crossing the lines for asking such a thing but he needs to know:

 

“What problems?”

 

Erik nods, as if he was waiting for that question and he breathes in before he answers.

 

“Magda and I tried for years to have a child. She even hard surgery, twice, but it didn’t... it never worked. She got tired of trying and decided to stop. I told her I was ready to adopt but he doesn’t want to… So… yeah. I guess we just have different visions of life after seven years spent together. I want a kid. And she doesn’t.”

 

Charles raises his head to meet Erik’s eyes, usually so beautiful but now just sad and faded. 

 

“Do you want ice-cream?” Charles suddenly asks, surprising both Erik and himself.

 

Erik frowns and laughs at the same time.

 

“Right now?”

 

“Why not?”

 

“... Yeah, why not, indeed.”

 

They walk to Central Park and buy italian ice-creams without even sharing one word. It’s amazing how good Charles feels when he comes back to his place later that day.

 

* * *

 

 

The dinner is absolutely divine and of course it’s because it’s  _ Hank _ who cooked. Raven and him arrived earlier this morning and Charles is welcoming them for a week and a half, as he always does when they visit him in September. Raven swore she’s not in New York for another photoshoot but only to see her brother and Charles will believe her the last day, if she really doesn’t disappear a day to meet with her model friends and photographers. Hank didn’t swear anything as he’s taking advantage of being in New York to meet with colleagues and visit their laboratories that even Charles wants to see. But they’re not talking about work tonight, just Scott, and that’s okay, because Raven can be extremely crude and that’s so cheering.

 

“He’s a narcissistic dickhead, that’s all I’m saying.” 

 

“Amen to that,” Charles nods, filling again their glasses with wine.

 

“It’s a good thing you could keep the flat, it’s a very nice building and neighborhood,” Hank says.

 

“Of course he kept the flat! Scott cheated, so Scott had to leave, end of discussion!”

 

“I must confess I’m quite proud of myself. I was just screaming and screaming and it slipped out:  _ Plus, you’re leaving and I’m staying _ . He didn’t even argue. Hooray,” Charles says, raising his glass before emptying it.

 

“May he roast in hell,” Raven adds, emptying her glass too.

 

“Or have chlamydia,” Hank shrugs.

 

“I have the best sister and brother-in-law in the world,” Charles smiles.

 

They’re cleaning the table when Charles’ phone vibrates. He walks to the balcony even before he reads the text and smiles when he sees Erik smoking, smiling at him.

 

> _ Having fun? I can hear your laugh. _
> 
> _ -Erik. _

 

Charles waves at him before he answers.

 

> _ Jealous? _ _  
>  _ _ -Charles _

 

He actually sees Erik pulling a face.

 

> _ God, no, why would I be jealous?  I love hearing your laugh. It’s dainty. _
> 
> _ -Erik. _

 

_ Dainty _ , Charles feels the heat on his cheeks.

 

> _ How are things going with Magda? _ _  
>  _ _ -Charles _
> 
>  

_ Things _ , nice euphemism for  _ the divorce,  _ Charles.

 

> _ Moving forward. Who are you with?  _
> 
> _ -Erik. _

 

> _ My sister and her husband. We might drink a bit more and listen to a lot of old 80’s songs, I hope you won’t mind. _
> 
> _ -Charles _
> 
>  
> 
> _ Turn up the volume as much as you want and have fun, Charles, you deserve it. _
> 
> _ -Erik. _

 

Erik waves at him and enters his flat. Charles especially turns the volume up when the song playing is  _ Who _ by Charles Aznavour. 

 

* * *

 

December has started for Charles’ greatest pleasure, and he can’t wait to see the city disappear under the snow. He’s going to have lunch with Moira today and even if he’s early for their meeting he decided to go straight to her office to wait  for her to be ready. When he sees the door of the elevator closing, he quickens his pace to catch it. It’s breathtaking to see who else is inside.

 

“Hello, Charles.”

 

“Hi Erik,” he greets, smiling to the point of dangerously pulling a muscle on his face. “What are you doing here?”

 

“I’m here to see the legislative council concerning the building site, what about you?”

 

“I’m here to have lunch with Moira. I’m surprising her,” he adds, as if it could change anything. 

 

Erik nods and looks at the digital numbers rising, before he finally says:

 

“I’m officially a divorcee, by the way. Or single. Yes, I should say single, it’s more attractive. Would you date a man telling you he’s single, Charles?” Erik asks, turning his head to meet his eyes and Charles beams. 

 

He walks closer and kisses him lightly but Erik immediately drives the kiss into something more needy and dirty and soon Charles is groaning against his lips. He whines when the whole elevator suddenly bounces and he draws his head back to see Erik’s hand flat on the  _ Stop  _ button of the elevator.

 

“You can’t be serious,” he breathes out, bewildered. 

 

“Is that a  _ no _ ?”

 

“... It’s a  _ yes _ ,” Charles growls, kissing him hard, “Yes,” he repeats, kissing his neck, “ _ Yes _ ,” he moans when he opens Erik’s pants and lets him do the same. He slides his hand under Erik’s briefs and closes his fingers around his cock, getting it hard by stroking back and forth with hasten movements. Erik growls something in German and watches him do so for a few seconds before he pulls down Charles’ pants and boxers just enough to free his hard-on. He starts to stroke him too but soon stops to spit on his palm to make it slick. Charles realizes it’s not the first time Erik has done it -touching another’s man cock- and that makes things so much easier. He nibbles his neck and licks and spits on his palm too, to stroke Erik’s cock a bit harder, a bit tighter. Erik’s body is pressing him against the wall, one arm resting beside his head, brushing his hair, lips absentmindedly kissing his forehead, repeating words in German that sounds filthy.

 

“Gosh I don’t even know what you’re saying but it’s turning me on so much…” Charles pants, smiling when he feels Erik’s tongue on his ear.

 

Erik laughs, deep and warm and he bites his sensitive lobe.

 

“I’m telling you how hot you are right now, how good you  _ feel _ ,” Erik explains, breathless.

 

“Oh,  _ God _ , Erik,” Charles pants before he’s even aware of it and he slowly drags his thumb on the wet tip of Erik’s circumcised cock, wishing it is his tongue touching it instead.  

 

“Don’t stop talking,  _ Schatzi _ ,” Erik growls, licking Charles’ bottom lip, making him keep his mouth open. “So pretty like this, for  _ me _ ,” he adds and there’s something burning in Charles’ heart, a desire, a need to answer:

 

“For you, only for you,” he says and it’s amazing how the words sound right, like the perfect note at the end of a song neither of them were aware they are singing, for months now. “Oh God,  _ oh God _ , I’m going to come,” Charles bites his bottom lip, lowering his head to look at Erik’s hand on his cock, his on Erik’s hard-on. 

 

“Yes, come, Charles, come for me,” and those are the words Charles needs to stop holding back, as he sees himself coming in long white spurts between Erik’s fingers. He feels Erik shivering and intensify his hip thrusts and Charles suddenly kneels, doing his best to not suck Erik right away as they don’t have any condom and simply keeps his head a few inches away from his cock, both of his hand firmly massaging him through his orgasm without even blinking, gaze deep anchored in Erik’s eyes. Erik’s voice when he comes is as breathtaking as thunder, making Charles feel so small and yet so powerful to have been the one who could make him feel him this way. He starts to get back on his feet, hands full of Erik’s seed when Erik  helps him by gently pulling his elbows before deeply kissing him. 

 

“If we should get married, I guess it’d have to happen in an elevator,” Erik says, dizzy with his orgasm.

 

“How romantic. I’d say yes right away,” Charles smiles, kissing him back.   
  
It’s just a joke, but they both keep that idea in their heads for the rest of the day.

 

* * *

 

 

Work is so hectic since February that Charles doesn’t leave his office in Columbia before 8PM lately. It’s nearly nine now when he arrives at his building; he wants to take a shower before he has to go have dinner with Erik, Emma and some professors from the genetics department but he can’t open his door right away because there’s Scott standing in front of it.

 

It looks like a joke, except it’s not funny. Charles considers running to Erik’s place to hide under his bedcovers, but in the end, he doesn’t see the point. Sure it’d be so much easier to pretend Scott hadn’t come by, that he never broke his heart in so many pieces that some of them got lost along the road of Charles’ hectic life. But he’s here now and something inside Charles’ brain tells him it would feel so much better to face Scott Summer than to avoid him and everything he represents. Well, maybe not  _ so much better _ but at least a _ tiny bit better _ .  _ Tiny bit _ will do.

 

He lets him in after they greet each other and he offers him a beer (the ones Scott left in the fridge months ago and Charles never touched because, well, beer tastes no better than piss). He sits on the sofa and Scott on an armchair at the end of the room.

 

“Your hair grew.”

 

“Yes, interesting remark, Scott,” Charles answers, patting a fold on his cardigan with a hand. “Why are you here?”

 

“Came by to pick up the last box I forgot.”

 

“Ah, yes, the box you left on purpose, waiting for me to call you to tell you you forgot it. Well it’s in the closet at the entrance.”

 

Scott swallows, “I thought about you a lot lately,” he adds, looking like a desperate gamer hitting all the buttons on his gamepad to try to fight back. 

 

“Of course you did, I was the only man who succeeded in loving you, even when you were a complete asshole,” Charles says and okay, the scriptwriter is back in his brain,  _ groovy _ . 

 

Scott nods and drinks his beer before trying again, “You’re right, I acted… like a jerk. I don’t know why I…”

 

“Oh, I know  _ exactly _ why you acted like that, Scott. Because even if you act like a very macho and independant man, truth is you’re just a little boy, overprotected by his mum. And even while growing up you didn’t have the guts to acknowledge that she only took such good care of you because she was alone and she was protecting you from your father’s infidelities. You could have been so much more, by becoming an adult, but you’re wearing the most bloody huge blinders I’ve ever seen and you just buried yourself in the lies,  _ excuses _ you told yourself to make yourself feel better, _ ‘If daddy did it, so can I’ _ , while you perfectly knew how awful that is, how much it hurts. And the more the years passed the more you realized what a jerk you’ve been to your boyfriends, to your own mother, so you decided to just dig your hole a bit deeper, right? For Christ’s sake I spent four years telling you to call your mother and to remind you to buy her birthday presents because you don’t even know when her birthday is!” Charles lightly laughs, perfectly in control of his voice and emotions - how he manages it, he has no idea.

 

“I  _ know _ when her birthday is,” Scott snarls.

 

“Okay. When is it then?”

 

“March 10th.”

 

Charles smiles and nods.

 

“Fascinating. It is a birthday date but it’s actually  _ my _ birthday. Oh, Scott, be a dear and just go see a therapist, okay? It’ll do you a lot of good, I promise. Everyone is seeing one, even I did a few years back, remember? That’s okay, it actually feels really good.” 

 

Scott stares at him, mouth gape open. He doesn’t finish his beer so Charles empties it in the kitchen sink. Well, it does smell like piss. 

 

Nevermind, everything is so much better tonight.

 

* * *

 

 

Lunch at Merco's was delicious and Charles is relieved about that because he talked to his mother about that Italian restaurant so many times that he didn't want to have oversold  it. They're now going back to Charles' place so that Sharon can give his son the car keys and papers he'll need for his weekend.    
  
"You still didn't tell me where you want to go."   
  
"West Haven. What are those?" Charles asks when his mother puts a key in his hand with a keychain he knows a bit too well. "You're lending me the Bentley? Mom, I told you I could use the simplest car you have!"   
  
"Oh come on, Charles, you're obviously taking your boyfriend away on this weekend, don't you want to spoil him a bit?" Sharon smiles, gently stroking his cheek while they're going in the elevator.    
  
"Erik doesn't care about that kind of things..."   
  
"Really? Gosh I wish I knew him, he seems to be a gentleman..."   
  
Charles presses the button of his floor and frowns at his mother, clearly deciding he won't make any comment about it. Raven and her asked so many times when they could meet the man ' _ who makes you happy when we thought you couldn't smile one day again, Charles _ ' but it's not something he's ready for. It's been a year now since Erik and him are together and even if they keep living in their separate flats, they don't spend one day without seeing each other. It's not that Charles is embarrassed by Erik (the man is sweet, polite and more than easy on the eye, the perfect son-in-law one can dream), it's not that he's embarrassed by his family either (his mom and Raven are both welcoming, funny and not insistent for a bit) but it's just that the last (and only) guy Charles presented to his family was Scott, and he's a still too ashamed of that call he made to tell his mother they split up, to pretend it never happened. Plus, what if it happens with Erik too? Charles can't face to tell his family he's so stupid he ended up in another failed relationship, one again. So one day he'll organize a diner at his place and they'll all meet and maybe one day Charles will invite Erik to spend Christmas with them in Westchester, but not yet.    
  
Or at least, that was the plan. But Erik apparently decided to bring him his clean laundry at this precise moment so,  _ sod it _ , Sharon and Erik are facing each other in the hallway.    
  
"Hi," Erik smiles, both to Charles and his mom, without knowing which one he should greet first.    
  
"Well, hello there," Sharon smiles back, before pinching her lips on her right side to grossly whisper to Charles, "Oh please tell me that's your Erik."   
  
Charles eyes raise to heaven.  _ Dear God, give me strength _ .    
  
"Yes, well, mom, this is Erik. Erik, this is... my mom."   
  
"Nice to meet you Mrs. Xavier, Charles is always talking about you!" Erik exclaims, holding the laundry basket against his hip to free his hand and shakes Sharon's.    
  
"Don't say that, you make me sound so gay," Charles moans, passing a hand on his face.    
  
"Nonsense, Charles, you're bisexual, plus I didn't raise you to believe in stereotypes," Sharon says without even looking at her son, eyes fixed on Erik, "but please, call me Sharon."   
  
"Alright, Sharon," Erik nods after only a few seconds of hesitation.    
  
So basically Erik is now calling Charles' mom by her surname while carrying his folded briefs under his arm, okay, that's not weird at all.    
  
"Your laundry is ready, I just wanted to bring it back to you," Erik says, seeing the way Charles stares at his own underwear - thanks God he's not wearing jockstraps.    
  
"Didn't I buy you a washer for Christmas?" Sharon frowns.    
  
"Yes, mom, but I broke the handle a few days ago so I'm doing my laundry at Erik's."   
  
"And he's bringing it back to you,  _ ironed _ ? Your mother can be very proud of you, Erik, you're an angel," Sharon says, nodding to Erik who blushes a bit.    
  
Erik never talks about his parents so Charles doesn't want his mother to get on that topic and invites them both to enter his flat. Erik puts the basket on the ground and comes to seat next to Sharon on the sofa when she asks him to. Charles disappears a few minutes in the kitchen, just the time he needs to silently asks  himself  _ What the hell is happening? _ before pouring himself a glass of Chardonnay.    
  
"Would you make us some tea, dear?" Sharon asks him and Charles growls behind his hands before faking a smile on his lips so she can't hear his annoyance in his voice:   
  
"I thought you had to leave quickly?"   
  
"Well, it's only an appointment at the dentist, I'll get another one soon," Sharon answers a bit lower, clearly talking to Erik.    
  
Charles shakes his head (because  _ everybody _ knows you have to wait six months to have an appointment at the dentist) and prepares the tea. He's praying for everything to go fine, that Erik won't say something his mother won't like and that she won't talk about Scott or Charles' young and stupid years (when parties and alcohol were Charles' best and only friends). 

 

When he comes out of the kitchen, his eyes stop looking at the tray he's carrying to look at them both. They raise their head at the same time to smile at him, and everything seems a bit more bright, because it's impossible not to notice how they  _ both _ love him so much. It's not the same love, of course, but it's clearly with the same intensity and Charles thinks about how stupid he was for fearing this moment, as it happens to be one of the best he ever had in his life.   
  
"Thank you for the car, Sharon," Erik smiles at her, voice as sweet as a cotton candy.    
  
"Take good care of my son, Erik," she answers, smiling back, and he nods.    
  
They drink their tea talking about the Westchester mansion after that and when Sharon leaves, she hugs Erik and kisses Charles' cheek for a long time before whispering to his ear "I'm very happy for you, my love" and that means his mother gives him her blessing. Charles doesn't recall her saying that when she met Scott. Oh yes, of course, that's because she never did.    
  
Charles closes the door behind her and finds Erik in the kitchen, cleaning the mugs.    
  
"Thank you," Charles says.   
  
"I didn't do anything in particular," Erik answers.    
  
That's true. That's even more beautiful this way.    


 

* * *

  
  
Charles puts on his pajamas, struggling to pull his arms in the long sleeves.    
  
"So, basically, it turned out it was Shelly who forgot her book in the library so no one stole it, as I told her," he ends the long story of his day, sighing when he finds the exit of his tee-shirt for his head.    
  
He looks at Erik, guessing his disheveled hair will make his lover smile, and Erik is showing his teeth indeed but to his telephone. Charles' heart turns grey with a dull ache.    
  
"What are you doing?" the words are coming out of his mouth before he's even aware of it.   
  
"Sorry, Schatzi, I'm just answering to Logan. I didn't hear the end of the story: did someone really steal the book?"   
  
Charles swallows hard and tries to focus on the things around him instead of the beating sound of his heart, hurting him more than keeping him alive.    
  
"Who's Logan?" he asks, grinning.    
  
"He's the site manager of the Museum. He looks like he's grumpy all the time, but he's actually very funny," Erik concludes, putting his phone on his bedside table before sliding under the covers. "So! What about the book?"   
  
_ Just a colleague, _ Charles thinks to calm the panic rising in him.  _ Just. A. Colleague.  _ __  
  
"Not stolen. Shelly forgot it in the library," he faintly smiles, going under the covers in his turn and letting Erik tightly hug him while his warm laugh resonates in his ear and ribcage.    
  
They kiss good night and Erik falls asleep in less than a minute. Charles has no idea how it's possible, because his brain might be quite smart during the day, at night, when the lights are off and there's not a single sound to occupy his mind and soul, Charles' brain replays the long day he had and particularly likes to stop on every itching details, or worse,  _ fears _ , that Charles succeeded to manage during the day.    
  
Today has been very funny, with the case of the Stolen Book him and Emma took care of. But then Charles got back home, ate with his lover and watched  _ Downtown Abbey _ and now there's a Logan in Charles' life and he's making Erik laugh. By text. At 11PM. Of course, Charles doesn't sleep well.    
  
The day after, he's busy with work but he somehow still manages to wonder what Logan could look like. Logan is a weird name, Charles knows it's Scottish only because he searches it on Google. He ends up imagining Logan being old, small and a bit chubby, wearing kilt all year long. It's funny and comforting. That's settled: Logan, the Irish site manager, is not a reason to let fear invade his soul. Erik won't cheat on him. Three days after that incident, Charles doesn't even remember it happened.    
  
It's Friday now and Charles doesn't work this afternoon so he goes buy some Banh Mi and knocks on Erik's office door to surprise him. Erik jumps out of his chair, laughing how glad he is to see Charles and kisses him chastely on the lips before turning around to a man sitting on the leather couch of Erik's office.   
  
_ Please dear God almighty, let this man NOT be Logan,  _ Charles prays so hard he might get a headache.    
  
"Charles, this is Logan, the site manager I told you about. Logan, here's my boyfriend, Charles," Erik says, presenting a man nearly as tall as him, with dark hair and a strange beard that Charles only saw wore in porn movies. The guy is so brawny it's both frightening and exciting but right now, it's just painful to notice that Erik has a colleague hot as hell and even more painful to notice that it's happening  _ again _ .    
  
Charles is jealous. And Charles is scared.  _ Charles doesn't want to lose Erik _ . He tightens his grip around his lover's waist and smiles to Logan who firmly shakes his hand.   
  
"Nice to meet you," Charles says, voice not a strong as it usually is.    
  
"Yeah, nice to meet you too," Logan answers politely. "See you on Saturday, Erik? Don't forget your racket and tissues because, you know, you  _ will  _ cry after the game," he winks at Erik and waves at them before leaving the room.    
  
Why are they going to see each other on Saturday? Why did Logan mention a racket? Why does this man exist?   
  
"We're going to play squash on Saturday. Gosh I feel like I'm going to regret it, as I didn't play in years, but I can't wait," Erik explains as if he understood Charles' silent interrogations and grabs his lover by the waist before making him seat in his desk and coming between his opened legs. "Oh, Charles, do you know how much I love you?" he beams and Charles can't help but smile a little.    
  
"Do you?" he teases him, but needing to hear the words nonetheless.    
  
"Yes. You're bringing me Banh Mi at work, plus after I spent hours looking at LeCorbusier designs you're still the most beautiful thing I've seen all day. It's amazing how much I'm... so  _ happy _ every time I see you," Erik says, staring at him, deep in his eyes, as if he's thinking out loud.   
  
And there it is, what Charles has been missing for the past years, the ones he spent with Scott: there's the  __ truth . Because Erik doesn't seem to even remember Logan’s existence and maybe he doesn't remember anyone else's existence either. He looks at Charles the same way the Earth is looking at the Moon: constantly, with a twist of what seems to be magic. Charles' pain is so clear now, it's not that he thought he didn't trust Erik, it's that he didn't trust himself. God, how Scott wrecked him deep to his soul and bones, and to understand it is both terrifying and fortifying - because now, all he can do is pick himself up.    
  
"I love you, Erik," he simply says back, serious and peaceful.    
  


Erik understands the seriousness in his voice. He gently strokes his cheek and closes his door before cleaning his desk a bit. He kisses Charles, softly and demanding, tongue stroking his mouth deep. He starts to unbutton Charles’ shirt and lets his hands slide on his chest, gently pinching his nipples. Charles holds back a moan and that makes Erik smile. He leans to lick his right nipple a bit before blowing on it. Charles kisses Erik’s skull and strokes his neck, keeping his eyes closed to focus on the sensations. Erik keeps undressing him, pulling off his pants and briefs before sucking his fingers to make them wet. 

 

“Why don’t I have lube in my desk drawer?” Erik smiles, slowly pressing his fingers in Charles’ tight hole.

 

“Because you’re not a porn star,” Charles grins, relaxing when he feels the digits stroking him from the inside.

 

“How sad,” Erik pulls a face before kissing his lover. 

 

When he finally enters him, Charles barely whines and Erik keeps kissing his open mouth to swallow the delicious sounds coming out of it. He keeps a hand on Charles’ neck, the other on his hip, and they slowly make love on his desk, whispering to each other all the adoration that is uniting them.    


* * *

  
  
It's almost two in the morning and Erik still hasn't come home. There's been so many incidents on the construction site (luckily, no one was harmed but only materials have fallen down because of the mud) because the geologists made a mistake on their bloody researches that now Erik spends his day and night trying to find a solution for the foundation.    
  
Charles is reading in Erik's bed, falling asleep and waking every twenty minutes to find the bed still empty. 

>   
>  __  
>  _ Do you think you'll be coming home soon? I hope you're doing okay.  _ __  
>  _ -Charles _ __  
>  __  
>  _ I'm not even sure I can come home tonight... I have a meeting with the geologists and the lawyers at 9.  _ __  
>  _ Miss you.  _ __  
>  _ -Erik.  _ __  
>  __  
>  _ I miss you too, love. I hope I could be with you right now.  _ __  
>  _ -Charles _ __  
>  _  
>  _ _ Don't worry I'm not alone, Logan is here too. Sleep tight, mein Schatz.  _ _  
>  _ __ -Erik. 

__  
  
Charles smiles and turns off the light, a bit reassured Erik's not working alone that night. Not a single second he has the weird panic Erik and Logan could do something stupid, because he trusts Erik. He even hopes Erik and Logan will become friends, because the few times Logan and Charles met, the man was funny indeed and he seems to be the kind of guy you can count on.    
  
How sweet life has become.    
  


 

* * *

 

  
  


Charles sets a foot on his balcony just to put his print on the snow covering it. He giggles and imagines himself and Erik in Central Park building a snowman so he leans on the railguard to call his boyfriend through the courtyard and sees boxes swamping the floor of Erik’s place.  _ What the hell _ . 

 

Charles quickens his pace and goes out, even if he’s barefoot and still in his pajamas and knocks at Erik’s door, who opens a few minutes after that.

 

“What are you doing?” He enters without waiting for an invitation and it’s even clearer now, Erik is moving out. They’ve been together for two years now and Erik didn’t even tell him that?  _ What the bloody hell? _

 

“Oh, good, you’re here, you can help me carry my stuff then.”

 

“You’re moving out?” Charles asks, voice as broken as his trust.

 

“Yep,” Erik smiles widely, putting a very light box in Charles’ arms and taking one himself. He goes out to the corridor, Charles following him to the elevator they’re taking. 

 

“Why didn’t you tell me? I thought we agreed we could live like this, with flats facing each other.”

 

“I know we did but it’s not working anymore,” Erik says, not pressing the button to the first floor but to the last one, using a pass. Charles stops talking. When the door opens, they arrive on a small landing. Erik opens the door with a key attached to the keychain Charles bought at the opening of the MoFA Museum Erik worked on. They enter and Charles discovers a huge and empty flat, with a rooftop terrace which is giving above the courtyard, with both of their balcony visible.

 

“It must cost a fortune to rent it,” Charles says, breathless.

 

“Oh yes. Thank God we bought it,” Erik agrees, putting down his box.

 

“ _ We _ ?”  

 

“You and me. I mean, your family and me as it’s a gift from your mother.”

 

“Why would my mother give me such a gift for no reason?” Charles’ laugh a bit hysterical, he knows it but he can’t help it. He puts down his box too, body shivering from head to toes.

 

“Because I asked her a question and she thought she could offer us something.”

 

Charles’ heart beats faster and faster. Is this a dream? Or is he in the coma maybe? Erik comes closer and rests one knee on the ground before asking Charles:

 

“Open the box,” nodding to the one Charles was carrying and of course it was so damn light because there’s only a little black box in it. Erik takes it out and opens it and Charles stops breathing for what feels like a lifetime when he sees a ring. “I asked your mother for your hand in marriage, and she said yes, and I’m very, very happy as I really want to marry you, because you’re the love of my life.” 

 

No, Charles isn’t in the coma, he’s not even dreaming. It’s his life and he’s not even sure how everything went from hiding tears and pain, to being loved and love back, holding hands, looking at strollers in the street and thinking  _ ‘One day’ _ , not as a chimera but as an actual plan in unison. It seems impossible how much Charles loves Erik Lehnsherr, from day to night, through every layers life adds to their existence, embroidered by a passion that simply won’t ever fade. He shivers at the thought of being called Charles Lehnsherr one day. Or Charles Lehnsherr-Xavier. Yes,  _ Charles Lehnsherr-Xavier _ , he loves it. 

 

He doesn’t say anything and leaves the flat to enter the elevator. Erik is looking at him through the opened doors, bewildered, and Charles explains, shrugging:

 

“I thought we said that when it happens, we’d be in an elevator,” he smiles, and smiles even harder, “Yes, Erik. Yes, I want to marry you and spend my life with you.” 

 

Erik sighs, actually  _ sighs _ , and stands up, before running to the elevator where he meets Charles’ lips with his own, dragging him in a deep and passionate kiss.

 

“Did you notice it’s a three-bedroom apartment, Charles?” he whispers against his wet lips and Charles strokes his cheek.

 

“Yes,” he breathes out before kissing him again, his arms finding its way naturally around Erik’s waist. 

 

Chest to chest, cheek to cheek, they breathe and hold each other with all the love they feel for each other, since the very first day on their balconies. Charles loves his place, and he’ll always cherish the way the two of them met, but this new flat will be theirs and the bedroom facing the park on the South will be perfect as a nursery. 

 

“There are stars to be seen in New York after all,” Charles says.

 

Erik smiles and strokes his hair before whispering, “Never doubt that.”

 


End file.
